Politburo

We all have our very own demons to fight very often we face those demons at night when we, all alone, struggle in darkness there is no weapon no friend nor solace to ease the treacherous battle that wages in our aching hearts we write empty pages we live in a poem that attempts to express what we have to offer the world it’s our best which isn’t good enough to earn a days pay Says some lucky fool who counts beans all day We find the need to escape. “The world owes a living” they say is not true, but what God freely gave to me and to you is fair game to deprive from the hungering masses how John Locke defined sin, suddenly passes for the basis of law, economic devotion stirring have-nots overcome with emotion It’s not just Jihadis come from abroad killing themselves to protest this strange God our very own sons, and the fruit of the poppy a strange addiction that is too often copied Not even a Boxer can stop Vote if you want to see change affected they say as they promote the discord suggested and invisible masters pull on the strings your vote gives them power, the very same thing they say is your freedom, which nobody needs a rifle or sword, this machine feeds on fear and division, on drugs hate and lies some very nice people one comes to despise how they act when they see that their Lucre is threatened and doubt the intentions of everyone mentioned Lets build a giant wall! We blame all our troubles it seems on outsiders which is simpler to swallow than facing the fires that burden our heart, (must be something we ate) and so we build community on hating the hate No different than when we persecuted witches real people that we simply thought were just bitches or obstacles in the way of our progress toward more and we sacrifice a few to the way of the whore or the pederast church, our ethics be damned know thyself, change thyself, if you call yourself “man” These go by other names today. I’m not superstitious, but my mind can’t escape the idea that I’m left with a bill for mistakes and sins committed by those long ago: “let my children reap the seeds that I sow” and “its none of their business what jollity I’ve had” thus whole generations are lost or gone mad be it ISIS or pot-heads, the church or your job Everyone feels that they have been robbed We long for the zombie apocalypse horde (which we’ll fight with our video game skills of course) glued to a screen we’re numb to the worst of everything that is real. Those screens numb our conscience - feed our soul on a diet that leads to eventual starvation, not riot for which we give thanks when we probably should flee but we have lost our innate sense of irony for Facebook is full of social media critics their message: they use social media to spread it and the manager enforcing the rule that he hates or a stock portfolio unequally spreading the weight our money to work for others we put it their sudden misfortune is our sudden profit Someday we’ll comfortably retire. But the deepest of sins with age more abounds “I had to go through it … with no-one around” in self-congratulation we heap up the burden on those who would follow, for we must be certain of things we know not of ourselves, lest we ask but we don’t and we can’t we’re not up to the task Seniority, Wisdom, Experience we claim while limiting your right to do the same Protectionism in the guise of a certificate or license the competent are summarily excluded, and thence we cannot find a leader The blind carry on boldly with their walking adventures and vistas they paint with their talking but little they know for they chose to forget the other senses which they’ve not lost yet I’ve heard it myself; write him off: “He’s no good.” do drugs and get murdered they’ll help shed your blood she deserved it, he got what was coming his way to assuage the guilt of the part that we play for sin is not things that we do, it’s a place and we quite like the custom of the rat-race As long as we think we can win But give of yourself so to others be kind (they preach it but try it and soon you will find) Put yourself first is what truly is meant and with a turn of the wheel another future is spent Will people live up to the image inside seems doubtful so long as the devils astride and so the way that seems all too treacherous: to not sear our conscience and too become lecherous This of our life, is the goal in large part not to manage our actions but instead guard our heart I think I am failing All of creation it groans as in birth expecting to see something else “good” spring forth As long as we keep looking out for ourselves we’ll all be alone as a sheep among wolves If we could just see that in caring for others we gain the strength of millions of brothers the world would be saved, redeemed if you will God if he’s there is a humanist still and that there though ridiculous it seem, though it die like an ember, my very last dream that good still exists.

Gollum

(with a little inspiration from P.K.W.)

How we rushed to get through antiquity
discarding the pre-socratics
their dialec-tic monistic vapory
esteemed anachronistic.
Until meeting with Friedrich Hegel's
dialectic holds absolute sway
engendered in reality
philosophy of day to day.
Utilitarianism of desire
accumulating gains
observes the train that’s crashing
and Calculates net pain.
And if it’s you that suffers
as long as it’s less than me
I'm thoroughly Epicurean
following John Dewey.
Bu’the rules o’the game are written
with cheating built right in
and this game is played for keeps,
incentivize! play! just win!
How frivolous our objections
when observing all the rules
we dare to come up short
o brother, - Racca, - fool:
If you think society's aim
your ultimate demise
you esteem yourself too highly
and consider us too wise.
For margins were added on purpose
to level the playing field
and you are but the means
to-day on the alter kneeled.
- This the people's confession
as you drown in a sea of terror:
"there is - no - conspiracy
just a comedy – of - errors."

Democritus Was Right

The most perverse of pleasures

eject from us at whim

and yet our humblest moments

evoke from us no sin

The tongue untrained unskilled

commits a genocide

though mightier than the sword or penis

wherein we chance confide

Words contain no meaning yet,

until to them ascribed

a fluidity of motion,

by interpretive design

Convey to you myself I fail,

but know you shall insist

the heart and ill intentions

of this ephemere-al wisp

Ideas are not the same as words

or reality

and so my conscious universe

is not entirely free

But stuck within a neural frame

a matrix of desire

of blood of toxins and of pain

of putting out such fires

This tyranny of urgency

demands my full obedience

while each and every agency

rebels o'er this allegiance

To mechanist pursuit

in the context of attention

our span is far too short

antecedent e'en to mention

And like our woe betided friend

Democritus we'll expire

in pursuit of circumstantial cause

to a-priori aesthetic fire.

And to this teleology we

admit an admiration

for science owes in part its frame

and we suppressed emotion

Midst rational fallacies adroit

and new ones of our invention

The phallic symbol of our might

a black/white world and pension

A decontruktion of our faults

the modernist prescription

bloody gruesome crimes of war

turned into progression

Yet to our antediluvian mind

we have not achieved a state

we falter at merely being kind

how dare we try-trick fate

Taking that which we haven't earned

we claim a destiny

Manifest in the result;

it must; because it be

And yet Albert Schweitzer's Jesus

still calls from a rolling wheel

or a beachhead, was it in Normandy

Silence, peace, be still

The beauty of human endeavor

is that we try e'en though we fail

that’s the story of god incarnate

it is the tearing of the veil

The truth is seen with many eyes

yet we cannot come together

for at the ending of the day

all we share is but the weather

Out of lonesome hearts we lash

our tongues betray our fear

we drive away all sense of other

lest it become too dear

And ultimately at last

a judgment few, no none

can bear upon the soul we hear:

nothing, we’re alone.

What hope then but the atomist

quantum theory can't provide

the space between our atoms

or the dark stuff that be god

But in our first beginnings

beauty it did slay

or slake and quench a "baser" thirst

which? we dare not say

For if we accept the first premise

then falls behind the second

We've built our worlds upon our might

and false humility it beckons

With the crafty voice of a serpent

slithering near the tree

it’s easier to be wrong

than live up to: who is me